Author's Note: I really liked the premiere, but I am a bit ticked off at Dean for choosing to lie to Sam yet again. I know, he was desperate and had no other options, but still! Anyways, this story contains spoilers for the premiere. This marks my 101st story on this site. Thanks for all the support! Please enjoy.
"You better be careful what you do
I wouldn't wanna be in your shoes
If they ever found you out."
—Miranda Lambert, "White Liar"
Dean's been acting weird ever since Sam woke up in the car.
For one thing, he's not exactly forthcoming on the time that Sam spent unconscious. His explanation of just putting his baby brother in the passenger seat and just driving around in the car rings false. For one thing, the youngest Winchester knew that he had been bad off when he had collapsed at the church, like hospital ER bad. He knows his big brother and Sam can't help but think of all the times he's been dragged into the hospital for less life-threatening things. To not be at least looked over by a doctor . . . it's odd, to say the least and out of character for his brother.
Then, there's his head. It feels like the wall is back up, like there's something he's supposed to remember, but it's hiding in plain sight, fading away as he reaches forward to grasp it. His dreams are flashes of a white light mixed in with images of Bobby and him walking in a forest, of Death sitting across from him, of Dean pleading with him to do something. The sound is always distorted in his dreams and whenever he's on the verge of overhearing something, the white light flashes and it's gone.
Dean's overcompensating for something, be it guilt or worry. He lets Sam pick the music and just to test his older brother, he put on a classical music station instead of heavy rock and Dean didn't even flinch. He just grinned and turned it up. It seems that Sam can do no wrong either. He's getting away with murder—messing up Dean's duffel, asking to drive the Impala (and Dean actually saying yes), hogging the TV and the laptop. His older brother just lets him do what he wants without nary a complaint and truth be told, it unnerves Sam.
"Dean?" He wants to broach the topic again and not be shut out by whatever it is his brother is hiding. They're heading to the bunker now, after stopping to stay the night. As he packs his shirt in, he glances at his sibling, listening to him hum a happy tune. Problem is, Dean only hums Metallica, not Beethoven.
"Yeah, Sammy?" He waits until Dean is meeting his gaze before continuing.
"That night at the church," His brother stiffens, his hands clenching up ever so slightly. "Did something happen?"
"The angels fell." Sam bites his lip to prevent his, "No shit, Sherlock" response from passing through his lips.
"No, I mean something with me." Dean's not facing him anymore, suddenly more captivated by the jeans he's now folding then his younger sibling.
"You passed out," His brother answers quickly. "I put you in the car and started to drive us here."
"Dean, I know I was hurt enough to go to the ER—"
"Well, it's a good thing you got better." Dean answers, tone clipped, making his displeasure know. He wants to drop the topic, a further indication that he's hiding something. A wave of anger surges through his veins. How dare his brother keep something from him after everything they'd been through? Hadn't they both learned that lying to each other only led to bad things down the road?
"How?" His shirt forgotten, he wills his brother to meet his gaze, to confess whatever it is that is putting distance between them. Dean doesn't, putting his jeans away instead. "Dean, how did I—?"
"I don't know." His brother mumbles softly and Sam has to strain to hear him.
"Bullshit, you're hiding something—" That triggers a response and suddenly Dean's green eyes are boring into his own gaze.
"You just got healed, okay?" He snaps. "I don't know how. One minute you were dying and the next you were . . ." His voice trails off, his eyes glazing over with some unreadable expression. "You were fine. Must've been something with the trials." Sam opens his mouth to speak, but Dean holds up his hand. "Can we just for once accept this we got a lucky break?" Sam chuckles mirthlessly.
"When have we ever had a lucky break?"
"Well, we got one." Dean mutters darkly and then he's out the door with his duffel.
Sam knows he's lying.
He just doesn't know why.
He dies on a normal hunt.
A vengeful spirit drives a piece of glass into his chest and immediately, Sam knows that this it, that there would be no coming back from this. Dean holds him in his arms and is pleading for him to hang on, to not go, don't you leave me, Sammy! But Sam is going and as the blood continues to spurt out of the wound, he tries to smile and fades away into the dark.
And then, nothing.
He wakes up in a motel room the next day, still lying in bloody sheets. His older brother's red-rimmed eyes meet his gaze and before he can ask any questions, his older brother's strong arms are crushing him.
"Fuck, Sammy," Dean breathes, hours of tension being released in his voice. "That was too damn close." A close call? No, Sam was sure he had been dying. His heart had been pierced. You didn't come back from that. It wasn't natural.
His eyes widen.
It wasn't natural to come back like that.
"A close call?" Sam echoes and Dean nods his head enthusiastically.
"It barely missed your heart." Glancing at his torn shirt on the floor, he checks the area where he was stabbed. The tear is situated right above his heart. As if following Sam's train of thought, Dean scoops up the shirt and tosses it aside.
"It pierced my heart."
"You'd be dead if it did." Dean retorts.
"I was—" Sam insists.
"No, you weren't."
"I was!" Sam shouts, wincing at the pressure on his heart. Instantly, Dean is there, easing him back on the bed. Drowsiness that he hadn't felt when he had awoken began to pull him back into the familiar dark.
"Go to sleep, Sammy," Dean order gently, a warm hand on Sam's forehead. "It'll be better when you wake up, you'll see."
Sam wants to protest because something is wrong, he knows it, but his mouth won't open.
He's asleep within a few seconds.
Weeks pass, and Sam finds that he has gaps in his memories.
He'll remember leaving to go on a hunt, he'll remember the pain of being injured by whatever it was they faced, but he won't actually remember anything after that. Whenever he searches his mind to find those missing memories, he hears nothing than a shrill ringing and sees nothing more than that white light. Occasionally, he'll see a name written in an angelic language. The name is always the same—Ezekiel. He doesn't know why he sees it. Dean, for his part, brushes off Sam's worries and assures him that it's just the trials that must be messing with him. He tells his brother to give it time because it will get better. Why Dean says that with such certainty, Sam isn't sure, but he does his best to trust his brother.
"Who's Ezekiel?" Sam asks out of the blue one day and Dean nearly chokes on his beer. Rubbing his temples, Dean glances at Sam and he must see the worry on his baby brother's expression because he quickly sobers.
"What brought that up?" He's being defensive, Sam realizes with a frown. He knows what's going on and he wasn't sharing the info with his own brother. What the hell was going on here? Dean never kept secrets.
"Who is he?" Sam repeats sharply, voice dripping with venom.
"He's no one I know."
"Why are you lying? I heard you call his name when I went down after the vengeful spirit got me with the glass." Sam says, deeply hurt by yet another lie.
"Sam." His brother sighs mournfully.
"I don't know anyone named—"
"Another lie? Really?"
I'm not lying—"
"You are!" He shouts, standing from the table. Fury fills him and he wants nothing more than to force his brother to give him the answers he so desperately needs. "I'm losing my memories and you're not even acting like you care!"
"I do care!" Dean insists. "But trust me, you'll get better—!"
"How do you know that?" The youngest Winchester growls, frustration evident in his tone. "Last time I checked, memory loss was a pretty big deal that required a doctor to fix! And who the hell is Ezekiel?"
"Sam, just calm down," Dean urges, hands outstretched in a comforting motion. "You need to trust me."
"Tell me what's going on." His eyes dart around for something and he remembers the knife in his pocket. This would be a desperate play and he had no idea if it would work, but he had to do something.
"Nothing is going on—" Sam pulls out the knife and calmly places the tip above his heart. Dean's eyes widen considerably. "Sammy, put the knife down."
"I can't get hurt, Dean," He informs him. "Or haven't you noticed the fact that I go down in a hunt only to wake up with no memory of it and just the remnants of bloody clothes?"
"Sam, please—" He steps forward and Sam backs up. This is the one chance he has to get some answers out of his brother. He wasn't going to stop until he figured out what was going on.
"Now, Dean." He meets his brother's gaze and Dean holds it, silently challenging him to following through on his play. In response, Sam presses the knife harder, wincing slightly at the sudden flash of pain.
"One last chance, Dean," He warns. "Tell me the truth." Though Sam can see everything in Dean is fighting in him to say nothing, the older brother instinct takes charge. Sighing softly, hands dropping to his side, he nods his head. As if the weight of the world were on his shoulders, he sinks onto the bed across from Sam.
"Sit down, Sammy."
That's how the truth comes tumbling out, told through a shaky voice and a whispered tone.
Countless days after the angels fell; Sam finds out that he is a vessel once more.
And that sickens him in a way he never thought possible.
Author's Note: Second part will be posted tomorrow! I hope you enjoyed. Please review if you have a second!